The Tale of Two Sisters
by Republic's Prodigy
Summary: Watching her kissing our mother goodbye I realized: I am genuinely happy for her. A story about Cavazza twins. Disclaimer: I just took characters to play, because imagination cannot be controlled.
1. Chapter 1 Parting Fiora

**Chapter 1. Parting (Fiora).**

My mother always told us – my sister and me – that we were beautiful. Maybe this was because every mother thinks her children to be the most beautiful creature in existence. Maybe it was because of both our parents' look. Though, honestly, I have never seen my father. But whenever I or Fabiola asked mother about him, her eyes suddenly turned dreamy. So I take it that he was charming, at least.

Either way, that was the thing we've been learning to exploit since childhood. I can't say we were rich – but it was enough for us not to starve, though we barely had enough money. Our mother was a courtesan, and I guess that pretty much explains why we'd never met our father.

And one day Fabiola just sit near me and told: 'I can't watch this any longer. We must help mum'. And I don't know what I was thinking but I agreed.

When I say 'I don't know what I was thinking', I don't mean I didn't want to help. I wanted to, I really wanted to. But what can a girl do in a large city, as was Rome, on her own?

The answer came out easy – steal. Grown up on the streets of Rome, we could run pretty fast – at least faster than the guards in their heavy glistening – and expensive – armour. So we just were choosing traders on the market at random and stealing from them. Well, not quite at random. They had to be man, you see, so one of us could distract him, while the other grabbed however much she could carry and disappeared from the sight.

Playing a lost girl proved to be not that difficult after all.

We had such a life – stealing, running around the city – until we were fifteen. I didn't count the days, but our mom was. Each our birthday she made a special dinner and it was the only day we were allowed candies. It was the only day we could afford it, at least. And even for that we've been saving for the whole year.

And each birthday our mum said the same words: 'You do not deserve a life like this. You're obviously made for a better one, with your beauty and sharp mind'.

It was quite funny to hear her saying about our 'sharp mind'. But considering that we were never once caught, maybe she was right. I never could quite praise myself, and neither could Fabiola.

These talks started boring me, though. And each following day we were returning to the same life, again and again.

Until the day we were finally caught stealing.

Well, 'caught' is not quite a word. Everything was as usual, I was distracting the fat trader (I really felt I was going to puke from the look he was giving me), Fabiola was the one stealing. When she disappeared at the end of the street, I mockingly bowed to the trader and took off running in the opposite direction.

We reunited on our run not so far from our home, laughing, lungs aching from the lack of air because of running. And suddenly Fabiola crashed into a man at full speed.

'Well, well, well', he said, 'What do we have here?'

I ran back to Fabiola.

'Stealing?'

Fabiola clenched her fists. 'No, no, noble man…'

The man smiled and knelt before her. It seemed like he wasn't dangerous. 'I'm not going to scold you, little girl. What is your name? Where do you live?'

'Don't you dare!' I screamed and clenched my fists as well. I made a mistake, a huge one. He was going to turn us in, it was so obvious. 'Don't you touch us!'

He gave me a strange look. 'I want to talk to your parents and offer them something. Look, I mean no harm. I can even dismiss my guardian'. He exchanged a few words with his companion, and his escort disappeared from view.

Maybe he could be trusted after all. But should something happen, I knew I could severely harm him. I'm fast.

We led him to our home. Our mother opened the door, expecting us and suddenly turned very pale when she saw that we had 'a guest'. A very noble guest, judging from his appearance.

After not so long talk we found out that this man was indeed a noble. A sheikh, or something like that – I have little knowledge of overseas titles. He also told us that he wished to see Fabiola by his side as his wife. Mother started saying something about us being very poor and unable to provide anything with Fabiola, but the sheikh only laughed it off and said that it was not our concern, but his and gave ridicule full of gold coins to my mum. I guess it was _the argument_ that persuaded her he was able to give Fabiola better life.

He was to collect her in five days. My sister was both sad and happy and tried to spend as much time with us as she could. When the time came, she told me:

'Don't cry, Fiora. We'll definitely see each other again. Remember what our mum says: we are beautiful and we were made for a better life. I bet a noble Italian will notice you in no time and we'll meet again on some talks between Italia and my husband's country. Promise?', with this words she outstretched her little finger to me and I held to it and answered, 'Promise'.

Watching her kissing our mother goodbye I realized: I am genuinely happy for her. She has always been the closest one to me and I really loved my sister. You know, not with that kind of sister love when, on the one hand, you wish the best to your sibling and you suffer without her, but in the same time you know that there is no place in this world for the both of you. It's like a neverending fight, with yourself and with your sister.

Fabiola hugged both me and our mother for one last time and disappeared in the carriage.

It was the last time I ever saw her.


	2. Chapter 2 Out of the Cage Fabiola

**CourtGoesRawR****: **Thank you for your kind words! I'm writing not in my native language for the first time, so it means very much to me ^_^

A/N: I looked through the 1st chapter again and corrected minor grammatical mistakes. If my teachers saw this they'd probably deny knowing me at all.

Anyway, second chapter!

**Chapter 2. Out of the Cage (Fabiola).**

I can safely say that handing myself into hands of that nobleman was a mistake. Probably the hugest mistake I ever made in my life.

No, don't think that the life as a wife was awful. Quite on the contrary, it was bearable. He literally bathed me in expensive gifts, was quite gentle with me, I had a personal servant at my disposal.

But all good things come at a price. And in my case, I was forced to pay the price because of my fast decision several years ago.

The first year was the most horrible and, in some sense, the most violent for me. It never occurred to me that different country also implies different culture, different beliefs and different points of view. That knowledge was hard to get.

Once arrived at his house in Constantinople, he told me that I should cover myself. When I gave him a misunderstanding look, he repeated his order and added that _not a single flash of my skin should be seen._ His voice implied that I'd better obey.

I had never complained about it. Actually, I discovered that shapeless long clothes made my body cool somehow and I wasn't dying of the heat. So there was nothing to complain about, but to thank him for this _advice._

It was months later when I found out that he really meant that demand. In a hard way.

It was just a usual day, when my husband had one of his meetings with one of his partners. I went away to the library, because, really I wasn't interested in trade relations, pricing policy et cetera. But all of a sudden some idea, which seems so insignificant now, came into my head and I darted into the main room to my husband to ask his opinion.

My husband gave me a strange look when I literally ran into his room. To make things worse, a mosquito bite just above my elbow started itching, so I had to roll my sleeve, flashing my bare arm, to be able to scratch it.

In cold voice I was told to get out of room.

Later in the evening, when the meeting ended, my husband came into my room. I stood up and greeted him with a smile and was about to deliver my idea to him, when he slapped me across my face and I fell.

It all happened so fast that I didn't even have time to react and to raise my arm to deflect the blow. So I just sat there, holding my cheek, tears streaming down my face.

_No one has ever hit me. No one. Never._

Such small accidents happened throughout my first year in Constantinople. Saying wrong words. Appearing in a wrong place at a wrong time. Doing wrong things. Embarrassing myself in all possible ways. Each my mistake earned me a slap, a shout, a hit. Through my sobs I heard him complaining about 'women from West', how we – and I in particular – should learn my place and learn to pay respect to men. That I should learn what obedience is.

And I learned. Or, to be more precise, I learned to fake it. I disappeared into back rooms when I was not needed. I listened to him, with my head bowed in respect. Never interrupted. Always hiding myself from head to the tips of my toes.

I felt captured in cage. I was no longer free. I could only find temporary peace and freedom with my servant, Borbala. She has always served my husband's family and spent her whole life in Constantinople, never leaving the city. She was fascinated by my tales of Rome, of its culture, of Catholic Church. When my husband was away, she led me to our back garden and asked me to dance. It was the only time I could – for a couple of hours, at least – get rid of those clothes and dance, freely, and sing at the top of my lungs. Borbala was always laughing when all of a sudden I stumbled, but never stopped clapping to the rhythm of my dance and song. It's amazing how she seemed to grasp the melody within seconds after its start.

In turn, she tried to sing local songs and I tried to dance to them, but each time I failed miserably. It just seemed unnatural and forced to me.

But all too soon I was fed up with this. Fed up with obeying. With hiding. With hiding my face.

The only option was to run. But what could I do in a country which I am unfamiliar with?

But our last quarrel made up my mind. I dared to defend myself which earned me additional shouts. It didn't happen often, but it did happen, so I needed, desperately, to put this to end.

I was creating a plan, step by step, like we had been thinking our tactics with Fiora long ago. But making up the plan was the easiest. Carrying it out was the difficult part, and this time Fiora was not by my side. There were days when I thought I'd never find courage in me to fulfill it.

I just kept postponing it, telling myself 'Not now. Then. Tomorrow.'

Until one day I forced myself to do it, because otherwise I'll be stuck here forever.

It was just another nice day in Constantinople. After midday Borbala and I were planning to go to bazaar to buy some spice. I clad myself in dark blue clothes, covered my hair, put on quite a few of my gold accessories – to sell it later - and silently prayed for plan to work. I tried not to think about my fate in case of failure.

When Borbala came out of her room to me, I couldn't contain myself and hugged her and silently whispered words of gratitude. She was surprised but said nothing. I hoped I didn't arouse any unnecessary suspicions.

We reached marketplace and I started behaving like I usually did when we were going out in the city: running between the traders, looking at different goods, asking Borbala when I saw something unusual and listening carefully to her explanations.

In an hour, maybe, more people arrived at the marketplace. Which only meant that I was about to flee.

I was walking a little behind Borbala, counting down from ten to one. After my lips whispered 'One' I took a deep breath and slowed down, willing myself to dissolve into this wave of people. I started counting again, this time in order not to panic.

At the count of thirty I heard a worried 'Fabiola?' somewhere ahead of me. At thirty-three, a louder call. At the count of forty I turned around and took off.

I ran. Sprinted through the crowd. Hid in narrow alleys. And ran, ran, ran, until my knees finally gave out.

I fell on the ground, near a wall of some house, trying to catch my breath, and looked around. I don't know how long I've been running then, but I ended up in the poor district of the city, the hotbed of thieves, robbers and kind. So I take it I've been running for quite a while, to find myself in the opposite side of the city.

I took another deep breath to slow down my heart and tried not to think about what can now happen with Borbala. I prayed that my husband – former husband – wouldn't kill her.

I sat there, lost in my thoughts, trying to figure out what to do next. And I definitely didn't hear the sounds of steps approaching. I only snapped back to reality when I heard male voice.

'Well, well, well, what do we have here?'

The words were so familiar that I nearly screamed.

Maybe the guards are meant to keep peace in the city. But in the poor district, they are monsters. And they definitely mistook me for a beggar.

I looked him in the eye, perfectly realizing two things.

First, I can't find strength to run.

Second, all my fighting reflexes died after all these years as a bird in a golden cage.

I closed my eyes.

I was ready to accept whatever awful fate awaited me when suddenly the guard let out an ugly cough and warm blood sprayed on my face.


	3. Chapter 3 Withering Fiora

**Chapter 3. Withering (Fiora).**

It's seven years since I last saw Fabiola. Five years since our mother's death. And four years since that raid on our house. It's because of that raid I'm stuck in Rosa in Fiore.

Staying in our house after mom's death was a bad idea in the first place. But I hoped that if I disguise the house as inhabited, it would discourage people walking around. You know, haunted houses and stories like that. Also, when you are sure you're not going to get anything valuable, however small, you are very unlikely to go to search that house. Why wasting your time and efforts?

Apparently, I was wrong. And the worst thing that I couldn't even put up a fight. I was too exhausted from the lack of sleep during several last days – days? Make that years. I needed to keep watch after all – I was completely disoriented when they suddenly showed up. Well, at least next generations in their bloodline can thank them for raiding poor district in groups at night.

So, I am here now, in Rosa in Fiore. It's funny how the fate my mother wished away from me found me in the end.

All too soon I realized there was no way for me to get out. Running was not an option. They'd just capture me again and I'd have to face rage of Madonna Solari.

I spent days trying to figure a way out. My mind stumbled upon one and refused to let go, though it would probably require years. I have to become Madonna Solari's favourite. Probably then she'll advise me to her best – and influential – customers, and it will be my salvation.

I hate to remember what I've been through. I've never been complaining. All I've been doing is what was requested from me. Seducing. Flirting. Sometimes – those were my favourite clients – just listening. Men come here to indulge themselves and having a good listener is required sometimes.

But those seeking a grateful audience were a rare occasion. Remembering most of clients makes me sick. I couldn't even afford the luxury of showing my disgust, though sometimes I managed to sneak to the backyard and vomit there.

The worst thing to happen here is a disease. Rome, as I've been told, is a huge trade center and we welcome many people from different cities. That's why disease spreads at such a speed. Worst of all, showing any signs of a disease costs you your position. Madonna is quick to get rid of those she doesn't need any more. I manage to avoid catching illness by pure luck.

Madonna Solari applauds my obedience and starts to allow me what other girls consider luxury. Whenever I stay up at night I can drink coffee. When there are no clients I am allowed to the small library in back rooms and I educate myself. Now I can read and write, not very fast though.

But her present I value most is being allowed out in the city. With guards, of course, she cannot risk losing me. It's during one of such walks that an idea strikes me.

I wonder if I remember how to run.

No, I'm not reckless to attempt escape after everything I've been through. I – or is better to say 'we', because a guard had always been with me? – found a deserted alley. I ask the guardian to help me, but he asks me what he's going to get in return and I manage to put on my best seductive smile.

I just wonder what Madonna Solari is going to kill him with.

I tell the guard the pace at which he should count and sprint to the other end of the alley. Result is miserable: my side aches, I'm short of breath. Second attempt can be safely called a disaster.

When we're back and guard attempts to get a payback he gets hit with a broom by Madonna Solari. After this, there are no more talks of getting something in return. This guard just watches me running and counts.

I alternate my running. Sometimes I sprint through the alley the fastest I can. Sometimes I stick to steady jogging and run back in forth until my legs give up.

After two months I no longer feel like a total disaster. But it's a small victory, seeing as I am still just a courtesan in Rosa in Fiore.

I need just one powerful friend and I will be done with Rosa in Fiore and Solari.

My success in gaining this so needed powerful 'friend' is humble, even with Madonna Solari filtering the clients. Four years ago I was dealing with mercenaries, sailors and kind. Now my clients are richer and more influential but none of them shows a desire to help me.

There was one banker, from Firenze, as I recall. He talks nice, and looks nice as well. I did my best, was charming, laughing at his jokes and carefully listening to him with a serious face when he was speaking. I expected his gratitude.

I should have known better than to raise my hopes.

I return to my daily routine and there doesn't seem to be an end to it.

Until one day the door screeches. Sunlight runs through the room and then disappears again.

I turn my head to see who came and suddenly it takes all my willpower not to drop my jaw. Strange, I didn't think I had any willpower left, but somehow I manage not show my awe.

This is the most unlikely person to appear in such place as Rosa in Fiore, if rumours about him are right.

Cesare Borgia has arrived.


	4. Chapter 4 Mirela Fabiola

**Chapter 4. Mirela (Fabiola).**

The guard falls and I see blood spilling around him. I am in shock, I can't move, I am paralyzed from head to toes.

Then I see my savior.

Probably I expected to see a prince in a shining armor, but instead I see a girl, a Romani. I saw them on the city streets quite often. Though somebody may accuse them of sorcery and dark magic, no one denies they can make a stunning performance, with dances and fire.

The girl can't be much taller than I am. Her skin is tanned, but not sun burnt. Her hair would probably make every girl in Rome jealous: a thick braid comes down to her hips. She is barefoot and wearing a long skirt and a top, tied under her chest, with sleeves coming to her elbows.

She spits on the guard and says, 'That's what you get for harassing people in _my _district'. I can see another guard approaching, but he doesn't seem to plan an attack. He eyes the girl and then just turns away.

'If I hear about something like this then our pact will be broken', she shouts. Then she turns to me and gestures me to stand up. She speaks fast, but I manage to make out words 'Hurry up!'

But I am still shocked. She sighs, grabs my forearm, helps me up and almost forcefully leads me somewhere. I don't resist.

We arrive at what appears to be a Romani quarter. I can see a couple of low houses – though you can hardly call it 'a house' – several carriages and fires. Fires everywhere. Romani are sitting around those fires, laughing, chatting. Someone notices the girl and waves her a hand. She smiles in answer and runs forward, sits down – for a second I thought she stumbled and fell down – and takes an apple and a slice of bread. I follow her, but don't come close. Instead I lean on a carriage and slowly slide down.

She talks and talks and then suddenly turns around, looks at me and says, gesturing me to come closer, 'Do you need a personal invitation? Come!'

I do come closer and sit down, a little bit behind her. She passes me bread, a cup of water and a fruit.

'Thank you, uh…'

She answers something incoherent with her mouth full. She swallows and names herself again. 'Mirela Djuric'.

'I am…' I pause for a second and then introduce myself. 'Fabiola Cavazza'.

Cavazza.

'Nice to meet you, Fabiola. Now eat before I force all of this down your throat!'

I take a bite of the fruit – it is a mango – and listen to her speaking loudly.

'Those guards are out of control! One day we make a pact of them doing nothing, _nothing_ in our district in exchange for their lives, and the second day they harass girls here!' I see another girl, with red braids, nodding.

Mirela continues her tirade and I say nothing, just chew slowly and take small sips of water. It is a humble food but it tastes better than everything I've eaten while being 'a wife'. And I am thankful to Mirela, to all Romani here for sharing their food.

Darkness falls fast, but Romani don't seem to be tired. Some of them are dancing around the fire, while three or four girls are singing. Mirela watches all of this, clapping her hands to the rhythm of the song and the dance. I stay silent but can't help but smile.

'You have anywhere to go?'

Mirela doesn't turns to face me, but I know she is speaking to me. To her people, she speaks in their language. To me – in Italian.

I shake my head.

'Well, you can stay here. Don't worry, no one will do you any harm', she adds, watching my eyes widen. 'They value their lives far too much for this'.

'It would be very interesting to listen to how you ended up, well, here', she says standing up and stretching her arms, 'but I feel like it is a long story which must be heard in daylight. If, of course, you know how to speak'

'Of course I know how to speak!', I say and Mirela is laughing. I know it was just a joke and just because I was silent the whole evening.

Mirela points me to her carriage, indicating where I can sleep. I silently thank her and move there.

In the carriage I take something to sleep on, something to cover – mosquitoes! – and something that at least resembles a pillow. I lie down on floor, not wanting to be a nuisance to those who kindly helped me.

After those years lived in luxury I thought I won't be able to fall asleep. You get used to good thing way too quickly. Bur sleep welcomes me gladly and I manage only one thought.

I am Cavazza again. I am free.


	5. Chapter 5 My Dear Murderer Fiora

And for short Chapter 4 I compensate with a long Chapter 5 :)

* * *

**Chapter 5. My Dear Murderer (Fiora).**

I try to appear unimpressed as I watch Cesare Borgia entering the brothel. I don't even know what seems more wrong – the fact that it is a cardinal standing in door of Rosa in Fiore or that it is Cesare Borgia.

It is hard to maintain a stone-like face but I manage somehow. Strong leaders don't need spineless followers and I don't want to give an impression of being the weak one.

Cardinal Borgia looks around, notices me and flashes a smile. I smile politely in answer, not daring to breathe.

He approaches me, evading other girls, silently throwing their hands off. They don't seem to be amused by this. I realize that probably it is my last chance of getting away – I am already above them, in some sense, and envy is a bad feeling. If I remain here, they'll do their best to turn the rest of my life into hell.

Borgia sits beside me and I start to undress, perhaps a little bit too eagerly. Cardinal laughs and stops my hands. I feel cold sweat gathering at the base of my neck. _I've done something wrong._

'Fiora Cavazza', he says. 'Enchanted to meet you'.

I don't understand what's happening. Borgia smiles once again and starts asking questions. I answer the best I can, remembering all the little things about clients. Smile doesn't leave cardinal's face.

'And have anyone named Borgia ever been here?' he asks.

'Who?'

That's when Borgia starts laughing, his head thrown back. I still pretend to be confused as if I don't know who the Borgias are and why His Eminence bothers to wonder about them. I try to show that I am strong, that I am unimpressed but a little bit interested. That's what strong leaders need.

But then everything gets really confusing and I need to pretend no longer.

Long story put short, Madonna Solari and her brother crossed the path to the Borgia family. And by 'crosed the path' I mean that they really screwed things up. Of course, the Borgias were furious. In exchange for her and her brother lives Solari offered Cesare to choose one of her girls.

I dare not breathe. My pulse quickens and I just hope my face won't become red.

'So, _la bella Cavazza_', he says holding my chin. 'Will you agree to join us and serve us?'

I nod. The choice is actually between staying here or joining the Borgias in whatever they are doing but no longer being a courtesan. So it's not like there is any choice after all.

The Borgias are corrupt. Everybody knows it. Few speak it. With everything I've been through during recent years I don't judge about morals. Morals? In this business? I beg you. In the end it's always cold calculation and weighing benefits against costs.

And right now only death is probably worse than staying in Rosa in Fiore.

So I nod.

Borgia smiles, takes my hand and leads me outside. I hear hushed voices around me, words blurred, but overall reaction obvious. They hate me.

We reach Castel Sant'Angelo by the end of the day. Borgia applauds my stamina, but I just nod humbly and say nothing about my improvised training. He helped me, sure, but it's still not enough to trust him. So the less he knows the better.

Lucrezia comes to meet us – him, Cesare, actually – and when she sees me, her eyes widen in confusion and she casts a silent glance at Cesare. But Cardinal Borgia just smiles.

'Evening, my love', he hugs his sister. 'Lucrezia, meet Fiora Cavazza. _La bella Cavazza,_ happy to introduce to you my dearest sister, Lucrezia'.

For a couple of seconds I just stare at her, then something at the back of my mind scolds me that it is not polite. So I try to make a reverence, but what turns out is a poor imitation. But Lucrezia seems to find this amusing. Her face lightens, she smiles an open smile and bows in answer and I am left speechless.

She leads me somewhere, Cesare never leaving us. At first I try to remember the route but all too soon I give up this idea. Long corridors intersect each other like a large cobweb. How can they find their way here without getting lost?

We enter the room with a table in the centre. I inhale the smell of food and feel my stomach twisting. Last time I ate was yesterday and even though I didn't have my 'improvised' training today it doesn't make any less hungry. I've been on adrenaline for the whole day and its effects are showing now.

Cesare sits at the head of the table, his sister beside him. I hesitate for a moment and take my place at another corner, clearly indicating that I am no match for them. And again Lucrezia seems content with it.

I eat slowly not to give bad impression. I had a nice start with this family and I don't want them to dump me.

Though what I am doing here, I have no idea.

That's when His Eminence starts speaking.

And I lose any trace of time.

I've heard rumours about Cesare Borgia's oratory. But hearing rumours and _actually listening_ to Borgia are two different things.

I snap back into reality when I realize I leaned forward open-mouthed. But the story Cesare's been telling really seems like a fairytale.

So there is a war. Which's been taking place for a long time. And I am offered to join the Templars. And somehow I know that 'no' is not an answer.

So I agree. I am ready to hear what I am supposed to do in this war, what my part is, but Cesare just shrugs it off.

'Morning, _la bella Cavazza._ All the questions are in the morning, for we are everyone tired. It is obvious we cannot let you stay in Castel Sant'Angelo, so please, accept our – my – gift to you. Lucrezia will hand you into my most trusted guard's hands and he will show you your apartment. If you shall need something, don't hesitate to tell either him or maid, who is in charge of keeping your new home in order'.

Something clicks inside my head.

My role must be important, and I don't like this. But there's no way back.

I stand up, before Lucrezia does, and then I follow her to the gate, trailing a little bit behind, keeping my hands in front of me, and looking down.

We are met by a guardian – Arrigo – and he is ready to show me the way. I turn to Lucrezia and bow to her again, this time, at least, managing to keep my balance. Lucrezia waves her hand, turns around and disappears in Castle.

I don't like being alone with a guard, _with a man_ – my memories from Rosa in Fiore are still fresh. But Arrigo appears so uninterested in me, that I secretly breathe out in relief.

A house that he has led me to is small, but seems quite new. Arrigo politely opens the door and I enter.

I am met by my maid, Alba – it's so strange to think about having _a maid_ – ans she shows me around. There are three rooms in this house: bedroom, dining room and what appears to be a hall, where probably I should meet someone should this someone come. Alba says that she lives in a neighbourhood, but majority of her day will be spent here.

I thank her and enter my bedroom. That's when I feel how exhausted I am from everything that happened.

I fall on my bed, close my eyes and take deep breaths. I am out of Rosa in Fiore, this disgusting place, but still I am not free. I am forced into a war, the war I know nothing about.

I turn my head and see a metallic flash beside my bed. I roll to the side and reach out my hand.

It is a fan. Confused, I unfold it and almost drop it. Its edges are razor-sharp.

Remembering Borgia's words 'Morning, _la bella Cavazza_', I decide to find out what it is tomorrow and prepare to sleep.

It is well past midnight when I am awakened.

Survival instinct kicks in – I grab my fan and lie down, pretending to sleep, but keeping eyes open just a little bit. Enough for me to see and enough for whoever is coming to think that I am fast asleep.

But all my determination fades away when I see Cesare Borgia entering my room.

I am frightened, horrified, scared out of my head. Awful images flash through my head and I sob hysterically. Borgia sits on my bed, and I am paralyzed. Everything I can do is to attempt to cover myself.

Borgia takes my chin in his hand and makes me look into his eyes. I cannot escape them. It feels like he bound me to himself.

'Well, my dear murderer', he whispers. 'I have a task for you'.

I inhale again, trying to suppress a hiccup.

'You will kill my brother'.


	6. Chapter 6 The Courtesan Fabiola

I'm back! I'm sorry for such a, uhm, pause, I've been fighting through my exams but I'm finally free!

I still haven't figured out the proportions between Fiora and Fabiola's POVs, so I sincerely apologize. If all of a sudden you see two chapters from one POV in a row, this means that yeah, I miscalculated and I'm trying to get timing better.

Next Fiora chapter will be up until weekend!

Meanwhile, here we go!

* * *

**Chapter 6. The Courtesan (Fabiola)**

I don't know how long I've slept. The events of the last days are still heavy on my shoulders. Escape. Running. Almost being harassed by a guard on a street. Witnessing a murder. And, finally, breaking free.

I stir in my sleep and try to shield my eyes against the rays of the sun. The window in Mirela's shelter is small, but, with my luck, I ended up lying so that sunshine falls right on my eyes.

I roll aside and slowly wake up. My vision is blurred, so I blink a couple of times to see clearer. A piece of fabric I got to cover myself is somewhere under my feet. It must have been quite hot at night.

I look up, but Mirela is nowhere to be found. I guess that's how life on streets is: if you want to survive yet another day, you get up early and make yourself useful. Well, you definitely _don't_ sleep until midday, like I did.

My neck hurts a little bit of lying in an uncomfortable position. I massage it, slowly try to turn my head left, right, up and down, and suddenly I realize something's missing.

All the gold I've been wearing – bracelets, necklace, rings – are missing and I frown. Well, Mireala kept her words. No one did any harm to me. But no one promised that my belongings, however small they are, were safe.

But I guess you have to pay for everything. And I value my life and freedom more that I value some pieces of yellow metal.

I get up and go out on street. The sun is high already, so it's really about midday. I look around and spot Mirela sitting in the shadow of a tree and examining something. I have a vague idea what it can be.

'Oh, woke up finally', says Mirela, nevel looking away from the golden pieces of jewelry. 'Morning, sleeping beauty. I hope you don't mind me getting a hold of these shiny things. After all, I – we – need money, and there are just that many people I can fool by predicting their fortune. And that many people I can steal from'.

'You're, uhm, welcome', I reply, eyeing my – former – belongings.

The Romani girl smirks and hides all the gold in a small bag and fixes it on her belt.

'So, Fa…', she suddenly stops. Coughing, she continues, 'You know, I _strongly_ advise that you cover your head'.

What? Again?

I start to say 'I refuse', but she interrupts me again.

'I don't want you to get heat illness. You have dark hair, so that's quite a danger'. At this moment I notice that she's wearing a bandana herself. 'Once it's sunset or dark, you're free to do whatever the hell you want, but now – please. And maybe you'd better to find something else to dress. I'd be surprised if they're not seeking for you yet'.

Before I can utter a word she grabs me by forearm and leads me to her shelter. Mirela dives into a huge chest, muttering to herself, seeking something. I can only stand beside.

'Ah-ha! Found it!' She reappears in front of me, holding something blue. 'I just hope your body proportions are somewhat close to mine. Try it on!'

These blue pieces of fabric appear to be clothes, a shirt and a skirt. I wait for her to leave, so I can redress, but she stays.

'Come on! What I haven't seen!'

I blush a little bit and, still feeling uncomfortable, take the shapeless dress off. The skirt fits just fine, covering my legs. Mirela helps me with the shirt, tying it under my breasts, but it still seems like it's a size too large for me. I frown, crossing my hands.

'Well, not bad', she smiles, examining me. 'At least before you can get something else'.

'Thanks', I reply, tying a light blue bandana and my hair. 'No, really, thank you. I don't even know why…'

'Maybe I'll call the debt one day', she smirks. 'But as of yet, you have a story to tell us'.

I don't even know why I am ready to tell her everything about my life, about my home, about my sister, whom I lost many years ago. But I don't object.

We find a place beneath a huge tree, so that sun is not burning us – well, me, actually, I am the one pale despite half a life spent in Constantinople. I can see the Romani people watching us with interest and some of them approach and join us. Then others. And so on, until it seems like everyone is around me.

That's when I hesitate. Would it be clever to tell them about me? On the one hand, spilling everything out doesn't seem like a wise idea. On the other hand, they could kill me already, had they wanted. So I start my story, which you already know.

And difficulties start right there. I don't have the best Turkish, and I don't understand the language the Romani speak _at all._ So I start speaking in Italian, waiting while Mirela translates my every word.

And here's the problem. You know like the language reflects the lifestyle. I've heard – from my husband – that Northern people have many words to describe snow, because snow is a part of their life. Here I meet another problem. It's not that I don't know what word to choose, oh, no.

On my very first phrase, about my mother being a courtesan, Mirela stumbles. You see, there are absolutely different morals in Constantinople, and there's no such word as 'a courtesan' in local language. The idea itself is an insult. There's a rude 'whore', an insult 'prostitute', but not what we assume when speaking about courtesans. Mirela sighs and starts explaining, and I secretly admire her knowledge of Italian language and culture.

I can see the girl with red braids trying to pronounce the new difficult word _'cortigiana'_, and she succeeds with fifth attempt. Others try too. It's fun to watch, really.

When silence falls again, I speak again. When I mention my life as a wife, I see girls gasping in disgust, I see male Romani frowning and I am surprised that the idea of a woman being nothing but a man's possession makes them sick. But I appreciate it and somewhere deep inside I'm happy. That means I'm really safe here.

They nod approvingly when I describe my escape, and that's when I can see Mirela stiffen and looking away. My gaze follows her and I see two knights standing nearby. One of them is in a dark armor, holding a helmet under his arm. I see that his hair is dark, but I cannot define his eye color. The other one, in light silver armor, is blond, he stands straight, while the brunette seems more relaxed.

Mirela stands up and goes to them and I don't know why, but I follow her, causing my listeners to whisper annoyingly. They wanted entertainment, they got it, and now it's taken away from them. But Mirela dismisses them waving her hand and goes towards these knights, her back straight, her head up. It takes maybe a minute for everyone to return to whatever they've been doing.

When I come closer, I can hear worry in Mirela's tone. I do everything I can to look small, not to catch attention.

'What the hell are you doing here?'

The Dark Knight – oh, here I am, already giving them names – delivers the news. And though I don't quite understand, I feel like there's nothing but big, big problems.

'Sorry to bother you, Djuric, but we've got problems. We've just lost Galata district'.

And when Mirela's eyes widen in horror and she gasps, I understand that 'problem' is a huge underestimation.

'Call on the gathering', she orders, trying to make her voice even, but being unable to hide the trembling. 'This is war'.


	7. Chapter 7 Fratricide Fiora

**A/N: **phew, that was long! I literally spent whole day on it. Worst of all, I suck at writing even more or less intimate scenes, but I hope you'll enjoy it!

Thanks to those who added this on their Alert List and who reviewed. You guys (girls? :D) keep me going!

And I just checked the story traffic and was amused at how many people read this. I legit thought there'd be like 2 or 3 of you, but I was glad I was mistaken! Come on, don't be shy, I need your critics so I can improve~ Besides, I don't have a beta reader yet _ So it's in your hands to make this story better!

Here we go! Fiora missed you too!

* * *

**Chapter 7. Fratricide (Fiora).**

I awake as if I was drowning and someone pulled me out, gasping for breath, my heart racing, my vision blurred, my thoughts distorted. I've had strange dreams while being in Rosa in Fiore, but this one takes the meaning of 'sick' on a whole new level.

Cardinal Cesare Borgia. In my room. At night. Ordering me to kill his brother, Juan Borgia, the Gonfalonier of the Church.

That's definitely _not normal._

I look around and see my present – the fan – on the floor, unfold and feel even worse, if it is still possible.

That can mean only one thing. My sick dream was not dream, and Borgia really wants to turn me into a murderer. And worst of all is that if I say 'no', I'll end up on streets and, probably, in another brothel.

Nothing but bright prospects.

I exit my room to find Alba sitting by the window, cheerfully speaking to Arrigo, who is outside. When she hears the door creak, she turns around, smiles to me and points at the armchair. There I see a light blue dress. I can barely figure out what is going on, when I hear Arrigo's voice.

'Sorry to bother you, senorita Cavazza, but His Eminence Cesare Borgia requested your presence as soon as possible'.

I nod, but then I realize the guard cannot see me, and reply to him, 'Just give me a couple of minutes'.

Alba helps me with the dress, tying the corsage. It's a little bit difficult to breathe, but not impossible. I hope I won't faint. She then braids my hair and when I look in the mirror 'murderer' is the last word one can apply to me. I can only see a pale frightened girl staring at me.

Alba smiles and hands me to Arrigo. I nod at her, she bows and then we're on our way to the Castel.

Our whole walk is silent. I can't speak for all I want, and Arrigo obviously isn't paid to entertain me, but to ensure my safety only.

When I see a red silhouette at the entrance of the Castel I think I'm going to faint and not because of tight corsage or admiration or something like this. All I can do is to start whispering '_Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli…_', but what good the prayer is when I am at the mercy of a man of the Church?

As we approach I notice another red silhouette, a little bit darker. I immediately know that Lucrezia is, as always, by her brother's side.

Holding my breath, I bow to them, avoiding looking at Cesare, but meeting Lucrezia's eyes only. She smiles and make a reverence in answer. From the corner of my eye I can see cardinal nodding.

Then he leads us into the Castel, into the same room where we were yesterday. Sometimes I can even recognize the path. I remember seeing this painting. I remember this sculpture. I remember at least _something._

When I turn to take my place at the other side of the table, Cesare stops me and politely points at the chair across Lucrezia.

Several minutes pass in awkward silence, and then Lucrezia speaks up, smile never leaving her face.

'Cesare, have you heard news from our Father? Juan is coming back from Spain in a week, and father holds a holiday for him. Fiora… Your name is Fiora, right?', she turns to me and I nod. 'You still haven't met our brother Juan, right?'

'I would be honoured to meet the Gonfalonier of the Church', I reply, secretly wondering if Lucrezia knows something about Cesare's plans.

'I'm sure he will find you absolutely stunning', replies Cesare, coughing, and there is something about his words I don't like _at all._ 'And _I_ would be absolutely delighted if you, _la bella Cavazza,_ would accompany me to this holiday'.

'With great pleasure, Your Eminence', I bow my head. 'But I'm afraid that I will bring shame on you, for I am not a noble woman and I don't have manners of one'.

'I'm pretty sure my dear sister will turn you into a noble woman in no time. You'll find yourself that it's different to resist her', he parries and somehow I know better than to argue.

* * *

When Cesare leaves, Lucrezia smiles tiredly, 'I love my brother dearly. But I barely see him, for his cardinal duties are numerous. I have nothing to do and though I don't know what's so special about you, I'm really glad that you are here'.

I'm struck and only thing I can mutter is 'I'm honoured, Your Grace'.

But a moment later Lucrezia turns into her usual cheerful self and claps her hands, 'Come on, stand up. We are to make a young lady out of you!'

I hurry to stand up and catch up with her. For about a minute we go in silence, then Lucrezia turns around, lets me go forward and suddenly gently hits me with a rib of her palm. 'Back straight!'

I let out a 'hey!', but then I feel her hands pulling my shoulders back. 'A noble woman should be proud. You don't bow, you go straight and hold your head high! Understood?'

I nod, and Lucrezia is in front of me again, gesturing me to go forward. I take several steps and she starts laughing again. I blush. I've never felt that stupid in my whole life.

'You are like a doll!', she exclaims.

'What?'

'You walk like a doll. Like a wooden doll. It's like someone replaced your spine with a wooden stick and made you walk. Take smaller steps. You're not in a hurry. You're noble, they'll wait'.

It's a wonder, actually. In two days, Lucrezia is content with the way I walk. In five days, she nods at my dancing and whispers, 'Just follow the lead of your partner. The easiest way not to fail'.

I, however, grow scared more and more. Growing up, especially after being left alone, proved that I could hit someone. I was a fighter, but not a killer.

So when the day comes, I am in Castel Sant'Angelo again. Cesare orders his sister to make me fit for the holiday and disappears in corridors.

Preparation for the evening takes a couple of hours. One of Lucrezia's maids takes care of me, while others take care of the Borgia daughter. Sometimes Madonna Solari was making me pretty, when someone important was to come to Rosa in Fiore. But this time it takes twice as much time. The maid helps me to get into a dress of deep turquoise color, decorates my hair with matching ribbons. This time I don't look in the mirror, because I'm scared of what I can see there. Do I look like the one who can commit a murder?

I fix my fan at my belt and take a few deep breaths to steady myself.

We are met by Cesare at the gates. He greets his sister with his usual warm smile, embracing her. Then he looks at me and I swear his jaw would have dropped, had he been less self-contained. Instead, his lips part, he hesitates, coughs and compliments me, 'You truly live up to you name, Fiora Cavazza'.

I bow my head and make a reverence, this time it comes out natural and elegant. 'Thank you, Your Eminence'.

Cesare stretches out his arm to me and I come closer. He draws me closer to him and whispers, 'Juan must be dead by the end of night. I don't care how'. I feel chills running down my spine. There's no turning back now.

We arrive when the holiday is in full play. I go a little bit behind Cesare, never leaving his side. When the dance starts, he draws me to him again. Lucrezia already disappeared in the crowd and is nowhere to be seen.

Juan, quite on the contrary, can be found easily. If you see several girls around someone, twittering and giggling – there, you found him.

Now I only need to make a plan on how to get him alone and to get out of here.

After the first dance I excuse myself and hide in the corner. My fingers clutch the fan and I wave it in front of my face, trying to think clearly. That's when Lucrezia emerges from the crowd and approaches me.

'You're nervous', she whispers. 'Your knuckles are white and you look suspicious. At this rate you'll fail'.

My eyes widen in distrust and suddenly it's hard to breathe. _She KNOWS!_

'Return to Cesare', Lucrezia continues whispering. 'There is a spirit of competition between them, and Juan always wants what Cesare has. Look around', she opens her arms and I do look around. 'I bet Juan has slept with majority of girls here. You are new here and you are with Cesare. If Juan won't want you the moment he notices you, then I know nothing about him', with these words she gives me a gentle push. 'Go now'.

And that's when the plan finally forms in my head. I don't pray this time, for I am about to commit a sin.

I approach Cesare again and accept his invitation to the dance. But as we circle around, my eyes never leave Juan's shape.

And then he finally notices me. His eyes lock with mine, I smile and hide my face in Cesare's shoulder.

'He noticed us, huh?'

'Mm-hm'.

Lucrezia was right. Juan breaks free from the girls and advances us. He gives a smile to Cesare, then to me (I try my best to blush) and offers me his hand.

'Would you mind if I stole this beautiful young lady for a dance, brother?'

'Only if this beautiful young lady wishes so', replies Cesare, but hands me in to him either way.

Now I only need to portray a noble girl the best I can.

Juan dances me away from his brother, whispering compliments to me, some of them are quite dirty. I giggle, hide my face in his neck – I do everything to appear as innocent as I can. And judging by Juan's smug smile, I succeed.

Nobody seems to notice when he leads me away to Castel, to his chambers. 'Seems' being the key word. For all I know, Cesare and Lucrezia are counting down the last minutes of their brother's life.

Juan drags me inside and before I can move, slams the door close and pins me against it. His lips crush with mine, we both angle our heads to move closer, and kiss, kiss.

When we part I can only manage a weak 'Wait', get a hasty reply of 'Why?' and being drawn for another kiss.

Unexpectedly – even for me – I make a small noise, but Juan seems quite content with it. His lips move to my neck, which I bare in eager submission, he releases one of my hands to grab me by waist, my fingers tangle in his hair.

My thoughts are in haze and for a moment I forget what I am doing and what I am supposed to do.

'My brother told me that a beautiful Fiora Cavazza is to be present at this holiday', Juan whispers, biting my ear. 'But you exceed all my expectations'.

At this words my mind clears a little bit, and when one Juan's hand grips my hip and he starts undoing my corset I suppose he's got enough.

My hand flies to the fan at my belt. With one swift movement I unfold it and draw an upward facing line across Juan's neck. Razors draw blood and several drops fall on the wall.

Juan gasps and tries to close the wound with his hand, but it's all in vain.

He can only mutter a quiet 'You…' before he's coughing violently and chokes on his own blood.

It is an ugly death. It definitely can't be mistaken for a sleep.

The harsh reality hits back again. I realize what I have just done, drop my fan on the floor and fall onto my knees. My hand gently touches Juan's cheek and I remember that I, _I, _had no reason to take his life.

Maybe I should cry now, but tears just don't come.

So here I am, half naked, my hands trembling, my hands in blood up to my elbow when I hear the sound of clapping.

Cesare stands in the door, his face unreadable, and applauds me. Beside him I see a figure of a man, tall, dressed in black.

'Bravissimo, Fiora', praises Cesare. His companion comes to Juan's body, sits, at touches his neck, checking for a pulse. A foolish act.

'Clear work', he breaths out. His voice is hoarse, broken.

'Lead her out of here', orders Cesare. 'She definitely can't appear like this at the front door of the Castel, Micheletto'.

_Micheletto. Cesare's personal hound._

'As you wish, Your Eminence', replies Micheletto, grabs me by hand and leads me somewhere.

Before leaving, I cast last glance at Cesare and feel my insides covering with ice.

I don't know for sure if Cardinal was a holy man, but the smile I saw that moment could not belong to anyone, but to Devil himself.

'_Padre nostro, che sei nei cieli…_'


	8. Chapter 8 Keep a Secret Fabiola

**A/N: **_I am sorry for poor formatting as I'm sending it from tablet. As soon as I am back at the computer, I'll reupload it!_

_Ant thanks a lot to those who keep reading despite my rare updates. The summer turned out very active for me :) Thanks, really, thank you all. More that 80 visitors over June and July! For my first story! I love you, guys :) _

_So here we goooo~_

* * *

**Chapter 8. Keep a secret (Fabiola).**

'Okay, I seriously have a feeling that we've lost her', I sigh, as I'm losing yet another round of card game. The redhead girl, Lucia I think her name is, smiles on me, and I let her click me on the forehead. Ouch.

I haven't seen Mirela for about three weeks. Sometimes in the dead of night I could hear her sneaking into her shelter and one minute later the only sound breaking the silence was her steady breathing. And early in the morning she was always gone long before I open my eyes.

As for me, I was left with those two knights, and, as they said, with steel in their voice, Mirela forbade them to leave me. Maybe it was like prison again, but it honestly didn't feel like one.

I was free to go around the city, as long as one of them was keeping his eye on me. Kharas, the brunette one, proved to be an interesting person, knowing history of Istanbul well. Wherever we went, he was talking and talking and I couldn't help but being enchanted by his stories.

The other one, Scivola, was more silent type. It was difficult to make him speak, but once you succeed he proved to be charming. Maybe he didn't know much about the history but he showed me probably the most beautiful spots of the city. Maybe I was lucky, but I was left with Kharas morr often. As he said to me - top secret information, of course - Scivola was more keen on carrying out the orders. Whose orders, however, I never got to know.

There were times, however, when I was awoken at dawn and dragged out of my bed. The first time it was quite a shock for me, but later I already knew what this meant. Neither Kharas nor Scivola were available, and I was to spend a day at Samila Khadim's place.

The first time I saw her, I was shocked. She looked much younger than me, and indeed she was. She was running a small shop, where you could possibly fond anything you needed. The interior looked rich, but when I asked what she was trading in, she just smiled and answered, 'Relics and secrets. Secrets are much more expensive than you think. Especially of those who have power and influence'.

But this was knowledge to understand much, much later.

She proved to be easy person to speak to. The first day I spent at her place, I was trying on dresses and accessories. Samila was helping and then either nodding in approval or shaking her head dismissing the image. The second time I spent in her small library. The third time she allowed me into her backyard and that's when I got some bad feeling.

The backyard was small, and it would be absolutely normal had it not been for three dummies. I only managed to raise my brows when Samila answered, 'In this city and in this time a girl needs to know how to defend herself'.

Little did I know about them, really.

I rub my forehead and look at Kharas. 'Well?'

'What do you want to hear from me, Fabiola?'

'I want to know what is happening. What war? I feel isolated, I don't know what's happening and it scares me'.

'When Mirela thinks it's time to tell, she'll tell. I have no such right'. And it was everything I got. So I need to talk to Mirela herself. Whatever is happening, she's the one in charge of it.

This night I go to sleep early - it's barely past sunset. I order my brain to switch off and fall asleep the next minute. Only deep at night I can hear voices talking.

'She wants answers, Mirela'.

'Bloody idiot you are, Kharas. I know that Scivola cannot think to himself, but I honestly expected more of you. Couldn't you make something up?'

'She would be more suspicious if what I made up and what you made up differed a lot', and Mirela _pff_'s.

In the morning I don't even know if that talk was real or I dreamt of it.

At dawn I hear Mirela trying to sneak out again. My brain awakes immediately and I grip her leg.

'Not so fast'.

She is obviously surprised, enough to freeze and not to attempt running away.

'What is going on?'

Mirela just smiles and replies, 'Would you believe if I told you that I am a part of a secret military order?'

'Not for a second'.

To my surprise, she laughs. 'Let's say I needed to make sure that several important persons will be here as soon as possible'.

'What's so urgent? Has war began?'

That's when Mirela's smile fades.

'This war never ended in the first place'.

* * *

Later that day we walk nearby the palace. I give up questioning Mirela by that time. And by that time I myself start to doubt I need this knowledge and the less you know the better.

Day lazily goes by until suddenly we hear shouts, swearing, and then - mocking laughter and something golden and orange flies past us. Mirela rolls her eyes and grimly watches guards run by. They are obviously not pleased with whatever has happened just now.

When they retreat, the Romani turns around and tells someone, 'Dulcemara, come out and tell what the hell you've just done again'.

I still feel out of what's happening.

The orange spot reappears from behind the huge tree and approaches us. Now I can see that it's a human wearing bright orange and golden clothes and a mask of laughter.

'Sorry, Mirela, couldn't help but have a little bit of fun', answers the man and takes his mask off. And I can't help but gasp.

The contrast is striking. While the mask portrays laughter, the man's smile is wicked, as if something bad has happened. A long scar crosses his face from temple down to his chin and it makes him all the more frightening.

'You do realize that you sabotage all our efforts, huh?'

Dulcemara only smiles. Mirela takes a deep breath and continues, 'We spent hell of a time trying to keep you in this palace and...'

'Yeah, yeah, I know', Dulcemara replies lazily. 'And yeah, I know that you've been spending recent days trying to bring everyone together, and I know that Cyril, Lysistrata, Seraffo and Vali are already here, and that Oksana and Evie will be here soon and Shahkulu is devil knows where and all of us are pretty content with it. And yes, I know that only by being in palace among all the rumours and news'.

'Yes, but...'

'Mirela, don't be boring', the Jester let out a groan. 'It was only a joke that I let myself in the palace. After all, the sooner this old bastard dies, the sooner Ali-Pasha comes to power and the sooner our life becomes easier', with these words he disappears behind the gates of the palace.

Mirela shakes her head and says to me, wide-eyed and misunderstanding:

'You can't even imagine what idiots I sometimes have to deal with'.


End file.
